Today is the first day of spring (and my late mother’s birthday) here in the sub-tropics of Australia.

Last year I planted a conifer for her, a Norfolk Island Pine – a tree that gets huge if the conditions are right. It has tripled in size – growing well (unlike most of the plants around here – the drought is taking it’s toll).

This is another of my close shave poems (but when I think about it the shave was too close – more like a fatal shave). This poem is about a friend of mine who died a long time ago now – strange how people always think they will get a second chance at life.

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Timing

His inebriated reverie
featured a change in fortune,
a magical
pivot
materialising, in the nick of time,
as he teetered on the edge.

He had visions of narcan for an overdosed lifestyle,
something to snap himself back from the effects
of a depressed, nervous system.

An apparition,
an angelic stranger, providing resuscitation.
Chest compressions sparking a cracked heart,
warm breath of someone else’s life
galvanizing his lungs for another go,

I haven’t received any Close Shave subs (though it’s not too late folks). Never mind – it is a peculiar subject (probably a theme that I relate to more than others). But I can dust off a couple of poems that I have written on the subject.

So below is The Volcanologist (Mr X).

Years ago I read an article about a Volcanologist who became so obsessed with lava flows that he made a boat and tried to float in the river of lava – the ending wasn’t happy.

I tried to track down that story but had no success (so if anyone knows the original story I would love to find the source).

You’ll have to read my poem to find out what happens to my Mr X, another obsessed Volcanologist (they’re everywhere ;) )